100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
11,616
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
11,616
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Lost
Title: Lost
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Semi Dark!fic
Summary: #80 – Lost. He could see that she was lost.
Word Count: 783 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by an Anon!
Prompt 80 – Lost
“Are you lost, little red bird?”
She hated him, and she hated his pet name for her.
“Let this old raven show you the way home,” he would purr.
He had found her skulking the corridors near the Slytherin Common Room, of course, not know how close she was to the serpent’s pit. It was cold in Gryffindor Tower, and it was warmer near the dungeons. With Snape as Headmaster, and the Carrows turning the school into a prison, Ginny Weasley found herself a little too cold, and a little too hungry.
She had been hugging her mother’s knit cardigan about her arms when Blaise Zabini found her. He had been in the corridor, in the shadows, smoking a long black cigarette leaning against a suit of armor, blowing smoke into the visor.
“I am not lost,” she said, straightening her back and lifting chin.
Blaise grinned, his perfect teeth so white in the muted torchlight in the corridor. “It is too late for pretty red birds for you to be out.”
Ginny sniffed. “That’s none of your business, Zabini.”
Pushing off the wall and crushing the cigarette under the heel of his expensive Italian leather boot, Zabini stood before Ginny, hands in his pockets, verdant eyes examining her face.
“It is not safe to be here, now, and alone, Weasley. So, I think you are lost.”
Ginny took a step back, smelling the aromatic scent of cloves on his breath.
“You need a wash, some clean clothes, and sleep. You Gryffs have it hard, and you, you are a Pureblood, a blood-traitor, but a Pureblood…” he muttered, his eyes taking the frayed state of her clothes, the dirt smudged on her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes.
Ginny smirked. “And I suppose you’ll offer me all that?”
Blaise nodded once, his long dark plaits sliding over his wide shoulder clad in impeccable robes like hundreds of tiny black snakes.
“For what in return?”
Blaise’s green eyes widened slightly, as if he were shocked that Ginny would suggest that he could not be charitable.
Ginny narrowed her eyes, hugging her arms tighter about her body. “For what?”
Blaise grinned again, his face like an ever-changing mask of ebon beauty. “Sleep with me.”
Ginny turned on her heel and started to stalk back to the deplorable conditions of Gryffindor Tower and the hopelessness there.
“I did not say sex, Weasley.”
Ginny stopped, staring down at the frayed hem of her skirt, the dinginess of her socks and scuffs on her shoes. Since the Carrows, since Harry left, everything, Hogwarts, had gone to hell.
Slowly she turned, her eyes blazing.
“After a hot meal, a private bath, a clean night dress—sleep with me.”
Ginny watched the mask change, the muscles stretched over high cheek bones relaxing, sculpted lips loosening from a tight smirk, eyes softening. It was a ploy, Zabini was a poser, but as he stretched out his hand to her, Ginny found herself taking it.
In truth, she had been lost. She had been lost when Harry and Ron had left. She had been lost since Snape and the Death Eaters came into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. She had been at a loss of what to do.
Zabini fed her, let her bathe, and gave her a soft white night dress to wear. Her tattered uniform was replaced, and her mother’s cardigan cleaned. The Slytherins had private rooms, private baths, and Ginny felt as if she had stepped into another world, or someone’s dream.
It was a dream, a dream that she knew she should not have.
Lying next to Blaise Zabini in an obscenely large four-poster bed with only a warm fireplace lighting the room, Ginny did not feel his fingers playing through her hair as she lay against his bare body.
She was lost and spiraling downward to hopelessness.
Ginny had been left behind to become lost. It was unfair, all of it, but as she pressed tighter into the warmth of Blaise’s side, she simply wanted to feel warm again. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, his arm about her, cradling her small body against his warm and solid form. His eyes were closed, his bare chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
And with a breath, Ginny realized, as if waking, that she was betraying someone, everyone, everything that she believed in and had been fighting for simply by relishing the warmth and closeness of Blaise Zabini’s embrace. However, she could not will herself to fight it.
Ginny Weasley was lost, and in being lost, she could continue to spiral down to some new truth as Blaise Zabini slowly warmed her from the inside.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: Semi Dark!fic
Summary: #80 – Lost. He could see that she was lost.
Word Count: 783 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words. Suggested by an Anon!
Prompt 80 – Lost
“Are you lost, little red bird?”
She hated him, and she hated his pet name for her.
“Let this old raven show you the way home,” he would purr.
He had found her skulking the corridors near the Slytherin Common Room, of course, not know how close she was to the serpent’s pit. It was cold in Gryffindor Tower, and it was warmer near the dungeons. With Snape as Headmaster, and the Carrows turning the school into a prison, Ginny Weasley found herself a little too cold, and a little too hungry.
She had been hugging her mother’s knit cardigan about her arms when Blaise Zabini found her. He had been in the corridor, in the shadows, smoking a long black cigarette leaning against a suit of armor, blowing smoke into the visor.
“I am not lost,” she said, straightening her back and lifting chin.
Blaise grinned, his perfect teeth so white in the muted torchlight in the corridor. “It is too late for pretty red birds for you to be out.”
Ginny sniffed. “That’s none of your business, Zabini.”
Pushing off the wall and crushing the cigarette under the heel of his expensive Italian leather boot, Zabini stood before Ginny, hands in his pockets, verdant eyes examining her face.
“It is not safe to be here, now, and alone, Weasley. So, I think you are lost.”
Ginny took a step back, smelling the aromatic scent of cloves on his breath.
“You need a wash, some clean clothes, and sleep. You Gryffs have it hard, and you, you are a Pureblood, a blood-traitor, but a Pureblood…” he muttered, his eyes taking the frayed state of her clothes, the dirt smudged on her cheek and the dark circles under her eyes.
Ginny smirked. “And I suppose you’ll offer me all that?”
Blaise nodded once, his long dark plaits sliding over his wide shoulder clad in impeccable robes like hundreds of tiny black snakes.
“For what in return?”
Blaise’s green eyes widened slightly, as if he were shocked that Ginny would suggest that he could not be charitable.
Ginny narrowed her eyes, hugging her arms tighter about her body. “For what?”
Blaise grinned again, his face like an ever-changing mask of ebon beauty. “Sleep with me.”
Ginny turned on her heel and started to stalk back to the deplorable conditions of Gryffindor Tower and the hopelessness there.
“I did not say sex, Weasley.”
Ginny stopped, staring down at the frayed hem of her skirt, the dinginess of her socks and scuffs on her shoes. Since the Carrows, since Harry left, everything, Hogwarts, had gone to hell.
Slowly she turned, her eyes blazing.
“After a hot meal, a private bath, a clean night dress—sleep with me.”
Ginny watched the mask change, the muscles stretched over high cheek bones relaxing, sculpted lips loosening from a tight smirk, eyes softening. It was a ploy, Zabini was a poser, but as he stretched out his hand to her, Ginny found herself taking it.
In truth, she had been lost. She had been lost when Harry and Ron had left. She had been lost since Snape and the Death Eaters came into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. She had been at a loss of what to do.
Zabini fed her, let her bathe, and gave her a soft white night dress to wear. Her tattered uniform was replaced, and her mother’s cardigan cleaned. The Slytherins had private rooms, private baths, and Ginny felt as if she had stepped into another world, or someone’s dream.
It was a dream, a dream that she knew she should not have.
Lying next to Blaise Zabini in an obscenely large four-poster bed with only a warm fireplace lighting the room, Ginny did not feel his fingers playing through her hair as she lay against his bare body.
She was lost and spiraling downward to hopelessness.
Ginny had been left behind to become lost. It was unfair, all of it, but as she pressed tighter into the warmth of Blaise’s side, she simply wanted to feel warm again. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, his arm about her, cradling her small body against his warm and solid form. His eyes were closed, his bare chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
And with a breath, Ginny realized, as if waking, that she was betraying someone, everyone, everything that she believed in and had been fighting for simply by relishing the warmth and closeness of Blaise Zabini’s embrace. However, she could not will herself to fight it.
Ginny Weasley was lost, and in being lost, she could continue to spiral down to some new truth as Blaise Zabini slowly warmed her from the inside.